Mercy's Flame, Part II
'Road's End - ' ---- ::The gray stone face of the Aegis looms over a town that has grown where the roads end their northward march and the great wall begins, dividing the Empire from the Wildlands to the north. The scattered buildings that formed the foundation of the community were built by the armies of Talus Kahar I when construction of the Aegis took place after the Wildling War. ::''Though small by modern standards, Road's End is notable for two things. The first is that the majority of the township's population are either relatives or family or currently serving offiers of the Imperial Watch and Aegisguard, or retired officers of the former Emperor's Blades. ::''The second point of interest is the architecture, which is somewhat unique within Fastheld on account of all the buildings being log houses and cabins; namely, handcrafted houses that have typically been made from logs that have not been milled into conventional lumber. ::''Loyalty to the Empire is so fervant in Road's End that you can practically feel it in the air, and monuments and shrines to the fallen soldiers of Fastheld - both past and present - can be seen everywhere. Though lacking a palisade wall, Road's End does feature southern and western gates to control the flow of traffic in and out of the township, as well as perimeter fencing to stop wild animals from wandering into the area from out of the Kahar Woods. ---- Sir Roe takes this opportunity to take care of the horses, while Sir Gavrus sets off to look about the square. Norran sets his attentions on Duhen and the others, resting a hand on the hilt of his falchion as he gives a nod. "I had assigned you to that Syladris matter, but I suppose tensions have gotten too difficult. You're free enough to consider yourself part of the extra force of Knights assigned here for the time being to see about the northern lands. We're planning to position ourselves in a spot in the fields to the southeast of Northreach, I'm seeing to mobilizing the guard. Keep on your toes." "Why did you think I was here?" Sandrim asks Duhnen dryly, before hopping off of the fence by the stables, stretching a bit as he starts walking toward the inn. "Mm, let's see now..." Taran smiles slightly, and moves to follow Sandrim. "Hmmm?" "A quiet visit?" responds the Driscol knight to Sandrim with a smirk. He looks back to Norran. "I explained to Mysra somewhat how things are in the Shadow District, and she wished to go off and think about it some more. She hasn't gotten back to me on if she had still planned on going through with it or not," he shrugs. The trundle of an approaching carriage is likely missed in the hubbub of the streets in Road's End proper, but it rewards the ears of the perceptive nonetheless. It is followed by silence--from that direction anyway. A long silence, and no sign of people at the entrance. The silence breaks with the appearance of four travelers, appearing mildly road-sore and at least two of them visibly dusty. The hoods of dark woolen full-circle cloaks are drawn over their heads, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill of the evening air, and while they don't speak, they move together. Two of them are slightly in front of the other pair. These two seem eager to get to a place to rest, and are headed in the general direction of the inn. "Either way, have any of you witnessed anything peculiar here?" asks Norran next of those Duhnen's been conversing with, Sir Gavrus casually walking about with a curious eye as Sir Roe returns to Norran's side after settling the horses. With her head down, and the hood up, Naoi is just one of the road-weary travellers armed with the weapon of a common man. A stout, nonthreatening walking stick. With her gaze on the ground a mere pace or two ahead of her feet, aware is not a good descripitive to use at the moment. "Strangest I've seen are you knights," Sandrim says, before he turns to look at the new arrivals, tilting his head to the side. Taran nods his agreement, but turns his attention to the newcomers. "Rumors of trouble...are widespread." Duhnen leans to scoop up the hat, peering at it, before brushing it off with a hand as he listens. Jessyn's behind those front two cloaked travelers, keeping close to Naoi and pinching the throat of her cloak tightly shut. Her quick eyes are up and looking around as she passes by, though still sheltered beneath the hood of her cloak. The nameless pair in front appear to be the leaders here. They stop just before the door to the inn, and the front two lean together to speak quietly, voices betraying that one is a man, and the other a woman. The woman gestures towards her feet, towards boots scuffed and scratched with holes showing at the toes. Whatever she says, there's a note of heat in it. With a sigh, the man nods, and they turn away from the inn and towards the door of a cobbler's shop, which still shows some light despite the lateness of the hour. Naoi swings her gaze to Jessyn for a second, unaware of any attention that has been drawn to them. She clasps both hands around the staff, leaning heavily, taking the opportunity to look about the city proper and it's many people. "Well, keep your eyes open, and such. I've letters to write," Duhnen states to Norran with a shrug. He casts a look to the other travellers, before turning about to wander away. "Hm? Well, I suppose I should find my way to the Guard's barracks to find the Captain. I don't suppose either of you could point me in the appropriate direction? Things have changed since I last visited...hm?" pauses Norran, glancing side-long toward the figures the others are glancing toward. "What is it? Has something tickled your delicate blasphemed senses or whatever you call it? Not /entirely/ out of the ordinary. But then again, what isn't?" Sandrim shakes his head. "Not really," he says. "Just looking at people passing through." He frowns, and points to the north. "I think it's that way." Taran nods. "He would know," he says quietly. One of Jessyn's own hands is wrapped around a similar staff, but her free one reaches out from the folds of that voluminous cloak to gently guide Naoi after the other two. Not that she really seems to need it. Course effectively changed, they head into the cobbler's shop. The inside of the shop is a neat, well-kempt place, smelling strongly of leather and of sawdust. The shoes themselves line shelves along the walls, prime specimens set out on the counter. A half-finished pair adorns the workbench at the back. It's empty, too, aside from the cobbler himself, seated behind his workbench and stitching away at the tough leather with a hefty looking needle, but he looks up at the sound of footsteps and staffs on his clean-swept wooden floor. Naoi stiffens when she spots Norran, and nearly jumps at the gentle touch on her elbow, turning to follow behind Jessyn with a tense gait. At the guidance of her comrade, she misses out on spotting the other familiar faces. "Would he, now?" queries Norran, peering somewhat at Sandrim before waving a hand toward Sir Roe and Sir Gavrus. "Perhaps I'll be kind, just this once. You both seek him out and question him, two Royal Knights should be more than enough. I'll wait here." "Yes, Grand Master." "Very Well...Sir Roe, I trust you'll manage to hold yourself back if you see any more dangerous hats that need taming?" "This is going to be a pattern, isn't it?" And so, the two amethyst-cloaked Knights clang and jingle their way north in search of the local guard barracks. Sandrim shakes his head. "I /did/ grow up here!" he calls after Norran, before turning to look at the Cobbler's shop with a frown. "That was her," he says more softly." Taran frowns at Sandrim. "This cannot be a good sign," he murmurs. "We may soon be very unwelcome." Jessyn *does* sense the hesitation this time, tightening her grip on that elbow to steer Naoi more firmly. "Don't look," she mouths, silently. Within the welcome warmth and the glow of the lamplight behind the door of the cobbler, she steps aside from their guides, beckoning Naoi to her. "Master Longshadow?" Taran Longshadow sets his tools aside and looks up at her, hands folding in his lap. "Yes?" "A word, if you please." Naoi follows along quietly, being led and peacefully so, watching Taran Longshadow from underneath her hood. As Norran remained and the other two left, the Lomasa stares toward the two with a quirked brow. "Is there something both of you would wish to discuss with me? Or should I leave the two of you /alone/? Look at you both, whispering to eachother out in the opening this late in the evening. Shameful." "I need new boots," Sandrim says, walking directly for the cobbler's shop. Taran shifts his posture, puts one hand on a now-tilted hip, and quietly drawls with just a bit too much of a campy lisp, "Sweetheart, I *would* have asked *you*, but it's just too much *work* to pry you out of all that metal, it's worse than autumn pickles, I swear." He waves a hand. "Do be a dear and restrain yourself?" He puts a thoughtful hand to his cheek...where a mark might have been if one were to exist. "We can't possibly draw attention." The hand falls, then, evidently taking his own advice quite seriously as he follows after Sandrim. Longshadow studies the hooded Jessyn carefully. "Aye. We're alone here, I'm-a-thinkin'. 'cept for your friends, o' course." He gives Naoi and the other two a pointed look. Jessyn shakes her head. "No, no. It's rather important we speak out of doors, I think. Come with me?" And awkwardly, warily, with an eye to those staffs, Longshadow rises to his feet. "Make it quick, aye? My wife be 'spectin' me home." "It will not be long," Naoi states softly, "You will be seeing her shortly." She shifts, slightly, to clear the doorway. One hand turns to the door, shoving it back open. "This is possibly the least surprising revelation I've encountered in all of my days," sarcastically chortles the Grand Master in response, promptly following after the two as if he's completely uncaring about the two's wish to get away from him. Because he probably is. Sandrim gives Taran an absolute glare. It's a bit of a walk to the cobbler's shop, so he's not quite there when the door is pushed open. Jessyn jogs--just a couple steps--to catch up to Naoi, which puts Longshadow between the two of them. "Worry not, Master," she soothes him. "It's a simple enough business--I'm afraid it's just a little... private, mm?" Leaning forward, she puts her lips close to Naoi's ear to speak without being overheard. ''You whisper, "Take him to just outside the city. It is private there, the best place for the ceremony." to Naoi. Taran sighs, raising a finger to one ear briefly, as one might with an earache, as he follows after him. "My friend, at times you have no sense of humor." Naoi winces when Jessyn moves closest, but tilts her head toward the soft command, nodding her understanding as she exits the small shop, "Of course." "A sudden inclination to buy shoes? Perhaps it wasn't an act," ponders Norran aloud, though his tone carries with it the usual superior, chiding manner that he tends to have. He follows along quietly, as quietly as a man in half-plate armor with a claymore over his shoulder can at the least. Sandrim turns, lifts a finger at Taran. "Yes you can," he says sharply. Taran just nods, then. "As you will," he says simply, then turns around to address Norran. "As you are so interested in a conversation, and as I have just mortally offended Sandrim for your entertainment, might I borrow a few moments of your time?" Jessyn follows close behind Naoi and Longshadow, with the other two not so far behind, and they start towards the entrance to the little township. Jessyn keeps her head ducked as she goes, walking carefully beside Longshadow in an almost comradely manner. "I am a Lightbringer," she says to him softly, the words meant for his ears alone. "I wish to help you find the Light. I will not speak to you long, and you will feel better for it afterwards." Naoi's eyes drift to the approaching figure, tensing, shadowed visage turning to Sandrim. Gray eyes are wide, panicked, a moment of weakness visible in her hestitation. Then she turns and stomps ahead, leading the progression once more, staff digging into the ground with enough force to mark the hard earth. "He wasn't the only one who was mortally offended," quips Norran in response, shaking his head slowly as he looks toward Taran. "And what, exactly, would it be you'd have liked to discuss?" Despite carrying the conversation, the Lomasa keeps a subtle eye on those departing from the shop. As does Sandrim. In fact, now that he's done snapping at Taran, that's all he's watching. Taran sighs, then, and leans forward to murmur at Norran quietly. Jessyn doesn't know what the cause is, probably, but she *does* sense Naoi's sudden uneasiness. "Easy," she murmurs, and puts a hand on Longshadow's shoulder to guide him. They're approaching the south gate now, and about to exit. And then? Just as they reach the gate, a shadow detaches itself from those clustered near the base of the building and becomes a sixth to their party of five. Naoi looks to the newest member of their little party, back stiff. Despite Jessyn's encouragement, she can hardly be said to relax. She pointedly does not look behind her. "You underestimate me, Master Songbird," muses Norran in reply, not really effected much by Taran's words if emboldened by them as his grin spreads wide. "In such a situation, the only temperment you would have to worry about is mine. I would appreciate whatever you might offer, but it is rare for me to leave leftovers. You must hurry before your meal turns cold, in such a case. But would we presume to have a feast this night? No, for I think the pheasant is not so lacking in their guile. More clever than that, don't you think? I nearly devoured their finest once, and they would be fool to think things would be any different. We shall see, though their methods bore me. The rabbit must eventually leave the den, but why prolong its fate? So irritating." "The rabbit is going this way," Sandrim says, loosening his sabre in his scabbard a bit as he starts heading for the gate where Naoi, Jessyn and her party are leaving, doing his best to keep up without overtly running. Taran's eyes widen just slightly, nodding very briefly before heading back over to Sandrim. Ideally out of sword range. "Quickly now," Jessyn murmurs lowly to Naoi, and without seeming to speed their pace, urges them out through the south gate. The three others are quick on her heels. "We cannot move too quickly without drawing attention," Naoi notes, flatly, the suggestion of teeth grinding heard in the tone. Despite the reminder that they are needed to be subtle, she does put an extra spring in her step. Norran is not a stalker. At least, not a very good one. Despite this, he makes his way to follow after the other two as subtly as a man in half-plate can manage. Sandrim picks up the pace, moving to keep up with the group, hand fully around the hilt of his sabre now. Taran follows, his hand as ever on his bright staff, that taptaps the ground in time with his strides. But he, at least, seems relieved that the road leads out of the gate. If quietly so. ---- 'D12 - Northtrail Road - ' ---- ::Winding its way through the northern fields and forests, the great cobblestone Northrail Road is rather well-maintained. Though slightly elevated above the land directly around it to promote water to run off the side of the road, Northtrail generally sticks to the low ground, snaking between any hills that may come in its way. ::''Wedged between Kahar Wood and the Cinderwood, here the road comes up to the gates of the township of Road's End. It's a bit of an odd sight to be sure: while the town to the north has a gate on the road to control traffic into the city, there is no palisade wall - the borders are instead protected by a tall wooden fence, mostly to keep wandering animals at bay. ::''Directly to the north, Road's End sits in the forest, smoke curling up from its chimneys. To the east, the bloodwood forest of Cinderwood stretches away, while to the west, the Kahar Wood's shardwood trees stand sentinel. To the south, Northtrail Road continues on. ---- Silence. Outside the gates of Road's End, even the calls of the night creatures have been silenced. There's an oppressive air about the place, a feeling which makes the hairs on the back of Jessyn's neck stand on end--expected or not. The cause of the disturbance is not readily discernable. At a glance the road, the gate, and the none-too-distant woods all look exactly as they ought to. Aside from that strange off-ness, that is. Naoi hesitates upon picking out the glow amongst the wood, looking back to Jessyn, "A campfire?" Sandrim frowns as he, too, spots the glow. "Maybe... a more powerful Sunkissed," he murmurs to Taran as he continues after the group. "No... wrong color of light." Taran frowns. "Fire," is his guess. "Light, I hope that's a bonfire and not someone's house." You paged Norran Lomasa with 'Am I waiting on you before I go on with mine?' "Then they'll be roasted to perfection upon it. Seasoned with fury, and marinated with vengeance! ... sorry, let's just go ahead," sighs Norran, reaching a hand to unsecure the scabbard from his back so he might carry it in his hand as he moves to follow after the group. In the black night, something blacker moves. No doubt it cannot be seen at first, slipping down Taran's back underneath his cloak, well-shielded by the cloth. And when it runs out of cloak? Well, there might be just a momentary flicker of something seen before it is abruptly *unseen*, with all the texture of air. So hidden, the rodent that is currently Meian scampers off down the southern road and toward the nearest stand of thick trees. Just inside the line of trees, Jessyn simply looks at Naoi, and her expression can't be read as either affirmation or denial. What it is, though, is grim. "Come on," she says to Longshadow. But Longshadow has stopped. Right there, refusing to go further. "No," he says quietly. "No, no, no. If'n I go in there, I willna be comin' out again." "I will free you from the Shadow's taint, Master Longshadow," Jessyn says, gently. "You will be released, free to seek the Light. Redeemed." Just what's happening is dawning on Longshadow, and he balks, shaking his head. "I willna go," he repeats. "I *willna*." Jessyn sighs, and claps a hand on his shoulder. As by some unspoken command, the three strangers that have been moving with them move to help her drag a struggling Taran Longshadow into the woods and towards that glow. "I promised I would keep you safe. A man, and a woman, chooses. A beast of burden does nothing but obey. A mule does not decide a man's fate, only men can." Useless talk, when she should be acting, but the hooded Ordinator has arguably showed hestitation to strike when she should, and bare arms when she shouldn't. A cold sweat runs down the trail of her spine, though the night is chilly. Still, in the end, such things come to pass and lines are crossed, and somewhere that delicate balance was broken. The walking stick, a simple thing to ease the burden of a road, is an effective weapon. She uses it as such, driving forward hard, attempting to intercept Jessyn's assistance by the simplest means available. By force. Sandrim grins as he watches Naoi. "That's all that I needed," he says, before slowing down, and taking one last step. As he does so, Shadow wraps up around him, and he disappears, only to reappear in Shadow right next to the group. "Want some help?" he asks as he draws his sabre. That's about all the excuse Norran needs. Stealth? Subtlety? Useless burdens! Tempest's scabbard is tossed aside as the pure white blade is unsheathed and drawn forth, blade carried low as the armored man now breaks into a bounding run through the forest toward those in the forest. Taran laughs as he watches Naoi choose, but turns to grin at Norran before he, too, steps through space. "We are not at *all* fond of leftovers," he says, before tendrils of night carry him toward the scourges. Bright staff raised, he says cheerfully, "Do you mind if I cut in?" And the invisible rat with all the substance of air? Keeps running just a bit longer... until she's closest to the nearest thing that passes for cover, likely a stand of trees. When the girl retakes a body under the double protection of shelter and distraction, it's as a girl indeed, keeping her distance and reaching over her back for the longbow there. She keeps a calm eye on the battle as she strings and readies it. Jessyn lets loose a cry of mingled surprise and pain as Naoi's staff lands with a solid crack on her wrists as she tries to push Longshadow forward. "Wha..?" It takes her hardly an instant to respond, instincts kicking in, years of training coming into affect in a single now, a single instant, a single movement. Out of the corners of her eyes, she registers the appearance of the others, realizes she's in trouble, and yet that walking stick is in hand by now, already prepared to defend. "Go!" she cries to the remaining cloaked figures. "He knows not what is best. Free him now, before these... these..." words fail her. "Before they take it from her!" The cry is scarce past her lips before they bodily pick Longshadow up--wiry and short as he is, it isn't hard--and start to carry him towards that orange glow. Jessyn's attention has already refocused on Naoi, pain beyond that of her wrists coming into her eyes. "...Naoi." That same pain is in her voice, even as she readies a strike that will hopefully force Naoi back. "What are you doing?" "You are taking a man to an early grave, Jessyn, and you do not care. The man is a cobbler." She parries, distracted, nearly missing the blow, lips thinning. An apology, half-uttered, were swallowed. Instead, she fakes left, then goes right trying to press pass the woman's guard in an attempt to get to those carrying the mage away. The sudden reinforcement may be reason to be relieved, but she pays them little mind in her haste. "No," says Sandrim simply, before leaping forward... and being carried away by Shadow, reappearing flying through the air /just/ behind the two carrying the mage, preparing to crash into them. "If you're a mage, protect yourself!" Taran opts to run, instead, and though it lacks his usual long-striding grace...well, it'd take more than a lot of arrows to make him *shorter* and those strides are still long. As is the bright argentite staff. "Madam, if you want a Taran to play with, play with *me*. I'll give you the last dance of your life." And so in flies Norran, emerging from the treeline with his claymore lowered slightly in preparation for a slash. "Hear me, fallen scions of the Light! You will not prevail this day, for you face the Law of the Empire! Resign yourselves to your fate if you wish to survive this day, for I have longed for coward's blood! You will hide from justice no longer! SURRENDER OR DIE! FOR THE LIGHT! FOR THE EMPEROR!" bellows the charging Lomasa, the obsidian and argentite armored Knight barreling through the wood toward the absolute largest group of scourges he can muster. Targetting his best not to harm the man they're accosting, he swings his blade in a wide arc upward toward one man's shoulder, aiming to dismember as his emerald eyes alight with excitement, his grin wide. Meian scowls as Sandrim completely ruins her shot, the girl sparing only enough time for a brief curse before she's running through the trees. She eschews the battle entirely, trying to sprint around it and over towards that orange glow, keeping the bow out and ready at her side. No battlecries here, and in fact not a single motion aimed to betray her to already-occupied eyes. "I do not care?!" Jessyn cries, anguish breaking her voice. "I do not *care*, Naoi? I do it *because* I care!" *CRACK!* She tries to spin away from Taran's attack blow, fails, and yelps in pain as his staff smashes into her shoulder and a tingling sensation rockets along the length of her arm down to her fingers, almost causing her to drop her staff. That cloak shifts aside, and reveals a flash of the golden armor beneath, now badly dented. The staff struck right at the jointed, in a weak spot. She tries to maneuver the staff to block Naoi's, and fails. Another resounding smack announces another hit, this one on her back, just below the unprotected nape of her neck. With a cry, she falls to her knees. "Don't you see?" she pleads. "It is the only way. For *him*. It is a duty of mercy! You *must* see. We are Sisters!" Scrambling to her feet once more, she twists to try and face both Taran and Naoi, aiming an offensive blow--not at Naoi, but at Taran. To Naoi, she seems only defensive. Sandrim is flung from the teleport squarely into the back of one of the three bearing the mage, who struggles. The entire bunch goes down with mingled cries of irritation and mild pain as somebody lands on a particularly uncomfortable root. Half-dazed and fallen some two or so feet from the struck three, Longshadow can do no more than blink stupidly about him. Some help he is. And as to Norran? He reaches the group of "Lightbringers" just barely after Sandrim does, as one of the fallen three is scrambling to his feet. It's a wrong move. Aimed to dismember, Norran's enthusiastic sword swinging does a better job of outright *goring* the man. And this is where we discover that they are not *all* clad in golden armor beneath those cloaks. The man falls with a fountain of blood that smothers any cry he might have made. No, those results are not pretty in the slightest. Meian goes mostly unopposed, moving swiftly between the trees towards the orange glow and breaking out into something resembling a small clearing. In the center of that clearing, the flames of a bonfire leap high, dancing and teasing at the night sky overhead. She might also notice coils of rope at hand. And this is where she discovers that this operation is done with no small amount of people--a substantial amount of Road's End is here, and one is coming to greet her now. He's not looking friendly--a knife shines in his hand. These others are catching onto the concept of trouble, too. Many are abandoning the fireside and moving towards the sounds of the commotion. To those still there, they likely seem as if they are black ghosts appearing from the shadows between trees. Naoi growls, a primal sound, stepping in between Taran and Jessyn. "Your fight is over, Sister." The statement is punctuated by the rich chime as the Scourge's staff rings off her breastplate, denting in the fine armor, and driving the former Ordinator back a step, weapon back up in a defensive position. A martial note of battle that denies her words even as she utters them. "Please, Jessyn, surrender. I do not want this. We will show you a mercy that you were eager to deny this man in your misguided superstitions. In your ignorance." Quietly. "Please." One down, and Norran wastes no time moving on to his next target. This man dispatched, the Knight surges forward to attack the other man nearby, levelling his blade and aiming for a far more direct blow toward the neck as Tempest sings - pure white blade stained with crimson as it flies. His movements are swift and calculated, not lacking in the slightest hesitation despite the condition of his previous foe. He seems to be too engrossed in slaughter at the moment to do some exposition. Sandrim grimaces as blood gets /all/ over him. A little less bloodthirsty than the knight, he places the tip of his blade against what is likely the last remaining one's neck. "Don't move," he says. "And you will not be harmed. We'll be turning you over to the Grandmaster of the Royal Order." Taran's lips thin as Naoi gets between them. "Tell me, Sister, what burns in the wood?" he asks, his tone that sort of sweet that is dipped in poison. "I apologize for my lack of charm. Too much religion gives me a sour stomach these days. The blood takes forever to wash out." Meian does not flinch or hesitate- she stops where she is, nocks an arrow, and aims to fire it at nigh point-blank range into the knifewielder's throat. "I am out of mercy for Road's End," the mage informs him and the group at large as her hands dance from quiver to string, her gaze glacial and calm. Whether that arrow finds its target or not, another is soon nocked. "Mercy," Jessyn repeats hollowly, and an empty laugh echoes from her throat. "Mercy burns in the wood. Ignorance. Superstitions. For your 'sunlight'." The words are barely gasped out amidst the laughter, and she leans back against a tree behind her. The staff falls from limp fingers. "Me." She shakes her head, and tears can be seen shining in her eyes--but they do not fall. "I trusted you, Naoi. Kill me then, if you will. Spill my blood. Go on." Norran's target yelps as Tempest whistles down towards him, twisting in an attempt to evade that razor-sharp edge. Not quick enough. With a spray of blood and a horrible gurgling sound, head flies one way, body swinging crazily in the other before it falls to the ground. So much for that one. With a grunt, the remaining of the first cloaked figures shifts beneath Sandrim, rolls to the side... and just barely manages to twist away from that knife point. Which is probably well, considering the gory, bloody, apparently crazed figure that awaits him if he were to submit to Sandrim's deal instead. There's not a lot options when someone fires an arrow at you point-blank. Well, there is one--but it's not pleasant. Nonetheless, it's the one in store for Meian's victim. Before he can even raise that knife against her, the arrow lodges solidly in his throat and he goes down as a last breath gutters unsteadily from his body. "No, Jessyn, I will not. Not everything one loves needs to be broken for the greater good." Naoi responds, setting her staff down and approaching the woman on even terms. "I hurt you, but in time, if you are strong... then you will realize what you speak now to be the tired, cowardly request to escape your burden." Without fear, she approaches, arms outstretched. Unless stopped, she'll pull the woman into an embrace, warm despite the cold golden glow of thier armor, bloodied by the faint glow from Mercy's flame, ignoring the distinct sounds of battle and death in the not-so-distant. Sandrim grimaces as he's knocked off. "Right," he says. "Your choice." The saber is thrust forward, toward the man's shoulder, to keep him in place. Taran is not so trusting. He doesn't attack, but the staff is ready in his hands if she so much as twitches in an unfavorable manner. "...Are you sure of her?" he asks Naoi quietly. "I would stay, but people are dying." Sandrim has disconnected. Two lives extinguished in mere moments, the Lomasa seems to calm down. "You could still use some more training, but you'll be fine. Finish up quickly. A foul wind approaches," suggests Norran of Sandrim, the man standing tall as he reaches to rest his bloodied claymore against his shoulder. He then begins to walk quite calmly in Naoi and Jessyn's direction, giving a nod in greeting to the pleading woman. "Pleased to make your aquaintence, Mistress. My name is Norran Lomasa, perhaps better known as the Grand Master of the Royal Order of the Crown. I believe you took something of mine recently - quite mean-spirited of you, but I have come to reclaim her. Entirely by chance, but I'm quite fond of my luck. Unexpected she would turn on you like this, but I suppose even she has some sense left in her, hm? Master Songbird, we should take the fellow they abducted along with these two ladies and flee to the horses. This location is no longer secure. I imagine Sir Roe and Sir Gavrus are waiting to assist us back in town." Norran speaks in a very polite, very obviously cultured accent the entire time, despite carrying a crimson stained blade on his shoulder and blood-stains...not his...on parts of his armor. "Does anyone else want an arrow? If not, go home," Meian calls to those still gathered around the bonfire, arrow on the string as the little mage waits to see what comes next. "Anyone who runs toward the city gets to live. Anyone who runs for the other battle gets to die. I promise-" And now she smiles, calmly and slightly. "On my honor, as a mage." Jessyn does not respond at first, and Naoi may as well go and hug a rock. And then, gently but firmly, she raises her hands to push Naoi away. "You tell me that everything I believe is false. You tell me that my life has been wasted, that everything I am and all that I strive to be is wrong. You call me a superstitious coward, and then you tell me it is not my fault, for I am ignorant, and what can you expect. And then you tell me that you do not want to kill me." She takes a breath. "You have already killed me. Had I my knife, I would formalize it myself." A tiny, sad smile. "You win. But there will be no tea or baths for this one. Goodbye, Naoi." She turns, and begins to sedately walk away, apparently uncaring whether or not they try to stop her. Meian's group looks at her with wide, startled eyes, full of proper fear for the Shadow. A few move towards Road's End. Most remain where they are. Naoi steps back at the push, lifting a hand to stop Jessyn, conflicted. Taran's question and then Norran's statement drown out her desire to speak, looking to the ground. Taran sighs, and nudges Naoi. "You know how the path starts," he says. "Move quickly. We have to get out of here either way." He looks toward Norran, then back toward the glow, then back toward Norran in disbelief. "...Shades. I think you've just managed a story I could tell and *never* be believed. No, I'll not go until Meian does." "Ah, you know what freelanders say. Two ways to skin a cat? Look after Tempest, would you?" requests Norran of Taran, jamming the bloodied claymore in the soil as he goes to walk after the woman. "I'm terribly sorry about this, Mistress, but this is a lot quicker. I'm sort of in a hurry," apologizes Norran, raising his fists to attempt to deliver a blow to the head meant to incapacitate. "Did I fail to make myself clear?" Meian's gaze roves over those who remain, as does the point of her arrow, aimed at each slowly in turn. Those who move away are clearly ignored in the arrow's progression. "You have presumed too far on my good will. I will not run from you this time, and you will burn no Touched today. If you put me in that fire, I will walk out molten and unharmed and sear a handprint on each of your faces to testify forever to your crimes. If you try to skewer me with your weapons, I will claim the offending hand from each of you with the jaws of a great wolf- *my* jaws. You will call it evil that others should look at you with the horror they have looked at me, I will call it justice, but either way, you will suffer. *Do you hear me now?*" The last words are nearly a shout, though they are as controlled as the rest, a fierce whipcrack. "GO!" Expecting a fatal blow rather than a fist-strike to her head, Jessyn hardly even reacts, and goes down like a felled oak. She lands in a crumpled heap on the ground, effectively unconscious. Graphic enough? Yes. Tense muscles get tenser with every word Meian speaks, and at the go, half of them jump, the other half bolt. The jumpers follow a moment later. Long distance to Naoi: Kavi nods. Expects this must be *really hard* on a character. Naoi is silent at Taran's prodding, and in fact, hardly reacts at the sound of Jessyn's fall. In fact, if she wasn't standing on her feet, she could almost be comatose. Serenity found in the inability and utter denial of the world about her. Taran watches his onetime apprentice put a mob to rout with a little smile. "I think...we are done here for now." He puts a hand on Naoi's shoulder. "Time to go. Come on," he offers, in a friendly and hopeful tone. "Sandrim will see the cobbler home. He probably knows the man." "I suppose *grunt*, this is good enough," notes Norran, bending down to attempt to lift and cart away the unconscious woman. He's probably had plenty of experience with this sort of thing, anyway. Walking over to retrieve his claymore, he gives a nod to Naoi. "Quite unplanned, but that's as things go. Ailith was dismissed as Warpriestess while you were under, no sign of a replacement. So, your judgement falls onto me. I don't know quite how useful this turned out to be, but for the while, you're quite free to go and carry on as you'd like. You'll suffer my retribution another day, but I'll doubt it'll be very bad. I'd ask you to continue your service, but honestly, I doubt it'll work any longer. Report to the Fort northeast of the Fastheld Bridge, as it's where your former caretaker is residing and make a full disclosure of what you've learned. After that...you can do what you wish. Thank you for your assistance, Master Songbird, and thank your husband as well. You've the gratitude of the Empire." Meian is silent and pitiless until the mob has melted away, and only then does she relax her bowstring- arm quivering from the effort of holding the bow at nigh full-draw all this time. She slides the arrow back into its quiver, scrawny shoulders slumping, and sighs to herself with a bone-deep weariness. "No Shadow-Touched is safe in that city," the girl suggests, very softly, a hand reaching up to touch her cheek. "Take him somewhere else. Aye, and they wonder why I keep the Mark..." Letting that statement die in the night air, she turns to skirt east through the forest without further comment. "Grandmaster, If I guide you into the heart of Sun's Keep, will you give that woman to the care of the Syladris? " Naoi states in response to Norran's dismissal, gray eyes opening to study the man. "You will not even need an army, so swift the fall... and you may find a way to kidnap the Shadowbane that resides there." Taran gives Norran an odd look. "Do me the favor of not using that phrase around Sandrim. He would be horribly insulted that you would think his taste that poor." Norran's eyes widen, tilting his head toward Naoi. "Is it that bare? The blockade was worthless, I suspect? Another entrance, maybe - coming in from the river? Ah, I suspected. Well, I can see what I can do. Why the Syladris would want such a violent woman is a question, but I'm on reasonable terms with the Archmagess. I can ask. However...I suspect we must act quickly. Word will quickly fly," suggests Norran, taking up his blade by the ricasso as he and the woman over his shoulder depart for the town. "Of course..." Naoi responds, "Thank you, Grandmaster." She looks back to the ground, one hand fussing with the ties of her cloak. ---- ''Return to Season 8 (2008) ''Back to Mercy's Flame, Part I Category:Logs